


until we both just float

by colourexplosion



Series: sweet harmony [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis finds him like that, when he’s just started on a second bottle of water -- the first discarded next to him on the couch -- and his leg still moving. He’s thrown his head back over the edge of the couch and got his eyes closed, trying to think calming thoughts, but it seems to be making it worse. The more he thinks about like, peaceful meadows and things, the more jittery he gets. It’s fucking frustrating. He looks up when he feels a nudge to his boot, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees Louis. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Hi,” he says, feeling slightly calmer already. He takes another long drink of his water. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Hi,” Louis parrots, watching him carefully, eyes tracking the movement of Harry’s throat. His gaze falls to the empty bottle next to him, and he looks up, raises an eyebrow. “Thirsty?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	until we both just float

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello can you believe I wrote another one of these?? I hardly can and they're all basically the same but I CAN'T STOP. anyway, as per usual, this is watersports only watersports, thanks to kate for reading it over and thanks to you for reading it!!! any remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> please don't show this to anyone even remotely connected to the band THANK YOU enjoy!

Harry’s still buzzing after the show, his skin feeling electric and tingly and his heart pounding in his chest. He’s antsy, but he isn’t quite sure why. The obvious answer would be exhaustion; running on a few hours sleep for the past week and performing night after night after night. It’s always worst at the end of tour and Harry can see their last show in North America like a neon light, blinding him even though they’ve got a week to go. It keeps him up at night, actually, the thought that this is their last tour in North America for awhile. After this, it’ll be back to Europe and then after those shows, nothing. For more than a year. 

It’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating. 

Understandably, Harry’s having a bit of trouble sleeping, which means he’s fucking exhausted, and that, mixed with the adrenaline that comes from performing in front of sixty thousand people, means he’s just spent an embarrassingly large section of the show screaming about poutine. 

Yeah, he doesn’t know either. He just needs to calm down, is what it is, so he snags a cold water bottle from the fridge and sits himself down on the couch in his dressing room, forcing himself to even out his breaths and try to get his heart rate down. He drinks half the bottle in one go, and while it sort of calms him, his leg is still moving, still bouncing up and down like he needs some sort of outlet for his energy. He can’t fucking stop. 

Louis finds him like that, when he’s just started on a second bottle of water -- the first discarded next to him on the couch -- and his leg still moving. He’s thrown his head back over the edge of the couch and got his eyes closed, trying to think calming thoughts, but it seems to be making it worse. The more he thinks about like, peaceful meadows and things, the more jittery he gets. It’s fucking frustrating. He looks up when he feels a nudge to his boot, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees Louis. 

“Hi,” he says, feeling slightly calmer already. He takes another long drink of his water. 

“Hi,” Louis parrots, watching him carefully, eyes tracking the movement of Harry’s throat. His gaze falls to the empty bottle next to him, and he looks up, raises an eyebrow. “Thirsty?” 

Harry’s water bottle cracks loudly as he drinks out the last of the water. “Yeah, guess so,” Harry says, wiping his mouth. Louis’ gaze darkens at that, turns almost predatory and Harry’s leg stops moving, sudden tension freezing him. 

“Drink another,” Louis says calmly, walking over to the fridge to get one for him. “And then come on. We’ll miss the car to the hotel.” 

Harry wants to point out that the car they hired isn’t going to leave them at the venue, but his brain’s stuck on _drink another_ and the way Louis looked at him. They don’t -- They don’t do the wetting as much as they used to, for various reasons -- time and privacy being the biggest ones -- and Harry’s only done it the once, but now that the thought’s in his head, it’s the only thing he wants. The last time he’d felt calm for days afterward, settled in a way that he couldn’t quite put words to and it’s exactly what he wants now. He needs it, really, to get through the last week. Of course Louis can tell. Of course he can. 

A cold bottle hits his chest and he jumps slightly, gasping softly. He takes it in his hand and looks up at Louis, who’s staring down at him, solid and reassuring as ever. He doesn’t look particularly kind or gentle, but he doesn’t look annoyed either. He just looks -- He just looks like Louis, and that’s all Harry needs. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, and uncaps the bottle. 

\---

The ride to the hotel is short, comparatively, but long enough that the first bottle of water Harry’d drunk starts to hit him. It doesn’t help that Louis’ sitting right next to him, one hand rubbing over Harry’s belly and the other fisted in his hair, speaking in a low voice in his ear, saying the sweetest things about how good Harry looked onstage and how wonderful he’d sounded. 

They hit a bump in the road and Louis’ hand presses down as Harry’s body moves up, pressing right on his bladder and Harry groans, biting his lip to keep the sound in. 

“None of that, love,” Louis says, giving his hair a tug that makes him gasp, makes his lower lip slip free of his teeth. “Want to hear you, yeah? Wanna know how good it feels. You feel good?” 

Harry feels hot, all of his insides tight and wound up, his cock throbbing where it’s trapped in his jeans and the pressure between his hips building with every car length they go. It feels fucking amazing, all told. “Yeah,” he croaks out, nodding the best he can with Louis’ hand still in his hair. “Feels good, Lou.” 

“Good,” Louis murmurs, scratching at Harry’s scalp and making him whine. “Want my best boy to feel good, don’t I? You deserve it.” 

“Yeah,” Harry nods, and turns his head, nudging his nose against Louis’ for a kiss. Louis obliges him, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth first and then kissing him harder, using the hand in Harry’s hair to guide him how he wants and _take_. Harry shivers and lets himself be moved, used and tries to move closer to Louis. When he does, Louis presses the hand on his belly down so hard that it almost hurts with how good it is, the sensation jolting through Harry’s core and making him break the kiss, his mouth throbbing and his prick almost sore with how hard he is. 

“My good boy,” Louis says quietly, petting Harry’s chest, fingers brushing over his nipples and plucking at them, making him whimper. “Such a beautiful boy, you know that? So good for me, so perfect.” 

“Louis,” Harry whines, arching his back up from the seat, his hips getting pinned by Louis’ hand again before he can move them. Fuck, he’s fast. “Please.” 

Louis kisses the side of his head, letting up on the pressure. “Yeah, I’ve got you,” he says, his hand going lower, palming over the head of Harry’s cock. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, gasping for breath as Louis works him over. It’s embarrassing, ridiculous how quickly he gets close is. Though, he’s felt about a second away from coming ever since they got in the car, so really he’s amazed he’s lasted this long. 

Louis’ fingers have just started fumbling over the button on Harry’s jeans when the car pulls to an abrupt stop, reminding Harry of where they are and who they’re with and -- fuck. _Fuck_. 

“Shit,” Louis says, taking his hand away from Harry’s crotch. Harry frowns at the loss, displeased but too far gone to put it in words. He settles for making a noise that has Louis turning back to him and kissing him sweetly on the mouth. 

“We’re here, we’ve got to go up to the room,” he says, cradling Harry’s face in his hands. It settles him and he nods, forcing himself to pull away from Louis and get out of the car. His legs are shaky, and once he stands the three bottles of water he’d chugged hit him like a freight, all the pressure building at once. 

“Fuck,” he says, swaying on his feet. Louis catches him with a hand to his waist and leads him into the building. Harry’s thankful there’s no fans around to take photos of the ridiculous bulge in his jeans and Louis leading him into the hotel. It’d be too embarrassing. 

The lift ride to their floor is short and Louis stays pressed up against him for the whole thing, murmuring nice things into his ear and telling him to hold on. Harry blocks out everything except the sound of Louis’ voice, focuses on his words and on the feeling of his hands running over him, soothing him and working him up even more. Finally, the lift dings and the doors open, and Louis ushers him out into the corridor and toward their room. Harry goes in a daze, barely registering anything. 

“Where do you want it,” Louis says, getting their door open and getting Harry inside. “On the couch? The floor? The bed, the bath? Talk to me, Hazza.” 

Harry shakes his head, trying to clear the static. “Dunno,” he says, “Um, not the -- oh shit -- not the floor, um.” He shakes his head again, overwhelmed until Louis kisses him again, brings him back down. 

“Hey, you’re doing so well,” Louis says, running his thumbs over Harry’s cheeks, kissing him again. “So well, Hazza. Need you to make a choice though, alright? Can you do that for me, love?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nods, breathless. He looks around the room for a moment, trying to clear his head. He takes a few deep breaths, becoming acutely aware of the pressure in his bladder again, and whimpers. Louis shushes him gently, kisses his forehead. It helps. 

“I think, um, not the bed,” Harry says, “Or the floor, or the couch.” He doesn’t want to ruin anything by pissing on it, and doesn’t want to have to explain to their tour managers why there’s an extra cleaning fee on the bill. 

“The bath?” Louis asks gently, and Harry nods. 

The bathroom’s huge, as far as hotel bathrooms go. There’s no tub, but there’s a shower more than big enough for two, and Louis slides the door open and shoves Harry inside pressing him up against the cool wall. Harry gasps in a breath at the feeling of it, ice cold even through his sweaty shirt. 

“You ready?” Louis asks, pressing their hips together, making Harry groan. He hasn’t undressed Harry at all, and the urgency of it keys Harry up even more, makes him nod frantically and lean down to kiss Louis as desperately as he can, whimpering into his mouth as Louis mimes fucking him up against the wall, pleasure shooting up Harry’s spine with each thrust. 

“Please, please, please,” he says, fisting a hand in the back of Louis’ shirt. “Louis, please.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, sliding his hands to Harry’s hips and pressing one low on his stomach. “Come on, then.” 

Harry lets go with a full-body shiver and a moan that echoes against the shower door, only outdone in its obscenity by the fact that he wets himself not a moment later, drenching his jeans and underwear, as well as Louis’. He sags with relief once he’s done, letting out little sounds at the sensations from his dick, still hard in his jeans. He moans, useless as Louis works open his jeans and jerks him off, pulling his orgasm from him quickly, the pleasure of it relaxing him even more. 

“Your turn,” Harry mumbles, a hand sliding around to grip at Louis’ arse, squeezing as Louis rubs off against Harry’s thigh, collapsing against him when he’s done. They slide to the floor, breathless and panting, Harry feeling calmer and more relaxed than he has in weeks. 

“Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ head, and then another to his mouth when Louis looks up at him. 

“Of course,” Louis says, reaching up to brush a curl out of Harry’s face, smiling fondly at him. Harry’s heart swells in his chest, close to bursting. He feels like he could sleep for days but also like he could go and do another five shows if Louis keeps looking at him like that. 

“I’m certainly never going to look at poutine the same way,” Louis says, startling a laugh out of Harry. 

“I should hope not,” he answers. “Though I suppose there’s no getting you to try it now.” 

“Maybe,” Louis shrugs, and stands. “Maybe not.” 

He holds a hand out for Harry to take, smiling and Harry smiles back and takes it, hauling himself up. He lets himself be undressed and rinses off, falling into the bed after giving himself a once-over with the towel. He’s dry enough, he supposes, and it’s just water. It’ll dry. 

He turns onto his side, curling up under the covers, smiling into his pillow when Louis slides in and curls up behind him, hooking an arm over his waist. He closes his eyes, reveling in the steady beat of his heart against Louis’ and lets himself fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm here if you wanna talk about it](http://jessimond.tumblr.com)


End file.
